


Dear Doctor Phlox

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-28
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Malcolm updates an old friend





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** The last chapter of my fic "Living History" spawned a whole new set of ideas; this is the first fruit.  
>  Unbeta'd and done for fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are still punctilious about their correspondence. Guess who is among them...

Dear Doctor Phlox,

I hope the family are all well. Have you become a grandfather again yet? Trip sends his good wishes to one and all, of course: especially the charming Mrs Feezal. I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear that he no longer goes that awful clammy greenish colour at the mention of her name. Do feel free to bring her along the next time you visit Earth - if you co-husbands are amenable, of course.

I'm really writing to thank you for your foresight in providing my other half with contact details for such a very professional biolab. I'll be sure to send pictures of Charles Tucker the Fourth at every stage of his development, and as Trip's passion for photography has only grown with time, I promise we'll bore you to tears with snaps of his every birthday, Christmas and snotty nose for years to come.

I must say the place appears to deserve the glowing recommendation I believe you gave it (and yes, I've forgiven you slipping its details to my husband on our wedding day without a word to me; we all know how unenthusiastic about reproducing I was at that point!). Everyone seemed highly qualified and, best of all, thoroughly _discreet_. In the light of our painful _celebrity_ that quality seems especially important.

Mind you, I'm married to the biggest mouth in Starfleet, so the whole of San Francisco probably knows by now! 

The monkeying around, for want of a scientific term, with our genetic material is underway. Our gender preference for our firstborn has been logged, though mercifully we have no control over the physical manifestation of our input into the new life-form. Do you insist on using such horribly impersonal language for these processes on Denobula?

Actually it's as well the precise appearance of our offspring is entirely Nature's choice because on the evidence of our first few days as prospective parents Trip and I are hardly likely to have agreed on anything. The name is a given, obviously: what worked for Granddaddy and Daddy Tucker will work for Poppa Trip too, and that's fine with me. The original died two years before Enterprise launched, but Charles the Second and Third are exactly the kind of men I'd like my son to become one day. Whether he'll be known as Charlie, Quad, or Charles is still up for debate, but that can wait until we've settled the biggest issue.

The middle names. I'm beginning to wish humans had never come up with the bright idea of bestowing more than one title on their progeny!

Captain Tucker, in his infinite wisdom, wants to burden the poor sod with _Charles Malcolm Reed Tucker_ , and is proving immovable on the issue. I can't imagine a crueller fate than being lumbered with both Disaster Twins' monikers in addition to a double dose of their notoriously calamity-prone DNA.

Apparently it's only fair: 50/50 genetic input, 50/50 identification. After all, he'll be known as Charles Tucker IV. Isn't it right that his Daddy gets a name-check too? 

One would have thought even that great loveable hick of a husband of mine would recognise _overkill_ when it jumped up and bit him on the arse, but no: restraint is still my contribution to our partnership, although it's been sorely lacking in our discussions on the N-word. My suggestions - Charles Jonathan Tucker to honour the Admiral, or plain Charles Tucker - are deemed unacceptably modest. My objection - that inflicting two unfortunately well-known Starfleet names on the same infant is ludicrous and an open invitation to bullies, hard-cases and halfwits in later years - is overruled. 

You know I have my ways of persuading Trip, Phlox. I've tried 'em all in the last forty-eight hours, and even the most reliable (no, I'm not going into detail - use your hyper-active imagination!) has failed me. 

Still, we've got nine months to come to an agreement. As Admiral Archer remarked when Trip pulled rank and appealed to him, even our biggest disputes have been settled inside nine days before now.

Don't tell him I admitted it, but I'm secretly rather flattered Trip would include my names in his firstborn's. Ever since our first year on Enterprise I've known how important it's been to him to add to the line of Charles Tuckers. Despite my innate distaste (based on personal experience) for Mr Soong's work with artificial wombs, I can't deny my gratitude for the technology. It seems to me we same-gender couples have the more comfortable nine-month experience, and even fifty years ago the prospect of having one's own child would have been remote for a couple like Trip and I.

He's already talking about adding to the family, of course; you know how his enthusiasms run away with him. Apparently we need at least one little girl, and one more son to continue the Reed name. Not that I'm not touched by his thoughtfulness (and you know I do confess a certain pride in my lineage) but _three_ children? I know we've got room, but what on Earth would we _do_ with them?

That, however, is an argument even I don't feel equal to starting just yet. We ought to get the name of our firstborn resolved before we start fighting over how many siblings he needs to torment!

No matter how many little Tuckers, Reeds, Tucker-Reeds or Reed-Tuckers we end up with, there'll always be a room available for you on your visits to Earth, Phlox. Are you coming for the inaugural Federation Medical Assembly next year? Charles IV will be about three months old by then.

Always your very affectionate friend,

Malcolm.  
Commander M.A. Reed  
Senior Weapons Technologist  
Starfleet Munitions Laboratory  
San Francisco


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all a little hectic in the Tucker/Reed household...

Dear Phlox,

Don't say you weren't warned! Attached is the first batch of pictures from Master Charles Malcolm Reed Tucker's first few days at home.

Yes, I gave way. What can I say? I'm not the only one with tremendous powers of persuasion (and other weapons in my arsenal when appeals to reason, or affection/common humanity fail) We were still at odds on the subject the night before his birth, and I must say it was unbelievably _sneaky_ of Trip to lay on a candlelit dinner with a bottle of excellent Chianti, my favourite songs for slow-dancing and then a night of - well, the kind of night new parents aren't likely to enjoy for some considerable time. It's a bit late for me to find out he's taken my lessons in strategy more to heart than I imagined!

As you can see, name notwithstanding, Charles is simply adorable. He has Trip's sloping nose with the sweet little upturn at the end; his Poppa's hair too and at the moment the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Of course they may change. Trip's hoping they will, and he keeps running his fingers over the poor mite's cheeks hoping, he says, to feel bone structure like Daddy's. 

It seems we hardly address each other as Trip and Mal/Malcolm at the moment. _Poppa, can you toss me a clean vest? Daddy, you want a cup of tea?_ Apparently we have to get Charlie accustomed to the titles. So we're not being soppy at all. That's a relief, because I was worried at first: I do have a reputation to uphold!

We've settled on Charlie as the usual form of address for him; though Admiral Archer's congratulatory card prominently named the poor bugger _Quad_. I have an awful feeling my grandson will one day have _Quintus_ for a middle name, and that's got to be worse than _Malcolm Reed_ , hasn't it?

I was rather apprehensive as the big day approached. Trip may tell me I'm a wonderful husband and I'll be just as good a parent, but frankly - I have my doubts, even now. I'm rather lacking in role models for successful child-rearing. You did meet my parents last time you were here, I remember?

Actually, I almost had to be dragged into the lab to watch his golden head emerge from the maturation contraption, not sure whether to be more terrified of what I'd agreed to take on, or mortified by the noisy enthusiasm of my fellow father. I'm sure half of New York knew Charlie's arrival was imminent by the time we got out of the space port.

Phlox, I've never seen anything so beautiful. Not even Trip on our wedding day melted my heart as easily as Charlie with his first blink and wail. I forgot to be panicked when Trip dropped him into my arms, snuffling something about needing a tissue before he could take his first picture, I was just so overcome with wonder. 

He's two weeks old now, and the awe I feel each time I look at him is unabated. I know you warned me I'd find fatherhood an overwhelming experience, but honestly I didn't think it would be _so_ all-consuming. A few minutes away from Charlie is too long; we're both on leave for his first month, and we'll work our schedules for the next year to ensure one of us is always home with him. I finally understand what Trip meant about completing our family; already I can't remember what life was like without my baby. It must have been so empty!

Hoshi declares him officially adorable; she's convinced his eyes are changing colour already, though Captain Parenting-Expert declares that's not possible. She does, however, agree with me; he resembles his Poppa, which is exactly what I hoped for. I'm already dreading his teenage years! Can you imagine the drooling girls (and possibly boys too, his preferences in that department might be as _laissez-faire_ as Trip's and mine) lining up outside our gates for a glimpse of him? 

I mentioned that to Trip last night after Charlie had finally settled down. I hope I imagined his answer, mumbled into my chest, being something about _gettin' mahself an old-fashioned shotgun._

God knows what he'll be like when that daughter comes along!

I'm sorry - so busy burbling away about my own family I've completely forgotten to enquire after yours! I hope the spat between your daughter-in-law and Feezal has been smoothed over? Dear God, there's something else for me to fret about for the next fifty years! How are we going to get along with the in-laws? 

Trip sends what little love he can spare from Charlie and me. T'Pol commed yesterday - the Admiral sent word to her immediately Charlie emerged from the mechanical womb, and she's promising us a visit in the next few months. We shan't hear from Travis for a while: he's aboard the Endeavour boldly going etc. in the general direction of the Beta Quadrant. We've sent him the birth announcement, and a couple of pictures. 

The grandparents are, according to their respective natures, volubly ecstatic and politely distant about the whole kerfuffle. My father has bestirred himself enough to despatch a miniature sailor suit (exactly like the one I'm wearing in the embarrassing picture Trip slotted into the order of service at our wedding). I'm bloody tempted to send a snap of Charlie in a tiny Starfleet jumpsuit in return!

However, we're already agreed our son will be under no pressure to chart any particular course. Of course if he does display a marked penchant for deep water, I may start singing a different song!

Write back soon with much praise for my beautiful little boy, and remember; you're welcome to stop by any time you're in the right star system.

Your affectionate friend,

Malcolm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another year, another change to report.

Dear Doctor Phlox,

I trust you're well, and all the family are thriving. I'm so sorry Trip and I missed your flying visit to San Fran, both of us being on the Lunar Colony for a tedious awards ceremony. Trip accepted the main prize on behalf of Admiral Archer (you'd have thought the scoundrel would've had the decency to collect his own bloody gong - we have a one-year-old to cart about with us, and have you any idea how much space infant paraphernalia takes up in a man's hand luggage?) beautifully, though he deliberately thickened up his accent so much I overheard a couple of nabobs grumbling they didn't understand a word during the reception after. Needless to state, that was Cap'n Tucker's plan all along!

Charlie seems to have enjoyed the journey enormously; he was the centre of attention aboard the shuttle Armstrong, and he's a Tucker to his stubby little fingertips in relishing the limelight, beaming at anyone who gives him a smile. I've never seen such outrageous flirting from anyone who doesn't share that surname. 

Well, except Madeleine when I first introduced my ridiculously handsome husband to her.

His eyes are definitely grey now, and his cheekbones are becoming more prominent so it's clear the Reed DNA didn't get completely overpowered by the Tucker genes, and he's beginning to make sounds that come perilously close to being coherent. "Pop-pop!" is how he greets Trip's return from work, and I'm adamant I received a "Da-Da!" this morning. I've been bursting with pride all day!

Hoshi waddled over to join me for lunch earlier. She's blooming, even if she does complain we men have the whole childbirth business easy. Having seen her wince as she sat down, not to mention the difficulty she had standing again after, I'm inclined to agree. The lab may be a touch _sterile_ , but neither Trip nor I experienced a moment's discomfort during the whole nine months.

Of course she's had to be extravagant, having two at a time. Even Trip never suggested we try that.

He probably thought I'd have reacted badly. Not too badly though; I like his balls where they are, even if in our case they're not much use in the baby-making department.

Hoshi's going to make a brilliant mother I think. Has she told you the names they've settled on? Midori for the little girl, and Michael for the boy, one from each family. Trip thinks they should be called Sato-Mills, hyphenated like their mum, but she's going all traditional.

It must be easier for all parties to have only one paternal surname to consider!

Oh, and she's also decided Midori is going to marry Charlie when they grow up. Eighteen months' age difference, families who are close friends, plenty of playtime together to forge a bond through... I keep telling her parental interference tends to impact negatively on a child!

You'll notice a change to my sig, which is really why I sat down to write to you. With immediate effect I am Captain Malcolm Reed, promotion granted for "exceptional services to multiple significant projects", meaning I suppose, the EM shield, phase pistol enhancement and the plasma weapon developments I've been beavering away on. Trip's exultant, bless him. A less generous soul would be steaming that my fourth pip was so much quicker in arriving than his.

Actually, I think he's more pleased with my promotion than he was his own.

As ever, the news would have spread more slowly around the compound if Admiral Archer had stood on the roof and bellowed through a megaphone. Trip knows everybody (and those he doesn't know certainly know him!). I've been inundated with congratulations, and I only got the news myself this morning.

Anyway, coffee break is now over; I'd best get my nose back to the grindstone before the powers that be decide to demote me again.

I am, as ever, your very good friend,

Malcolm.  
Captain M.A. Reed  
Senior Weapons Technologist,  
Starfleet Munitions Laboratory  
San Francisco


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family expands.

Master Charles Malcolm Reed Tucker IV is proud to announce the arrival on Friday June 16th of a sister, Melissa Elizabeth Reed-Tucker, weighing 2.9 kilograms: a first daughter for Captain Malcolm Reed and Captain Charles Tucker III. Little sister is doing well; Poppa and Daddy are already struggling to remember what sleep is all about.

Dear Phlox,

Following the birth announcement (and I never ought to have allowed that blithering fool to compose it unaided: Charles Malcolm Reed Tucker is proud to announce the arrival of, indeed!) I've attached the first batch of official photos in the life of princess Melissa Elizabeth Reed-Tucker. Isn't she just unspeakably gorgeous?

In fairness to Trip, Charlie does seem to be bursting with pride in his new sister, dragging any unsuspecting caller by the hand to her cradle: hence the number of snaps showing bemused Starfleet officers, neighbours and general passers-by leaning over the cot with a beaming two-year-old shoving a jammy finger into the baby's face. 

Trip maintains she's very like me, but I put that down to the dark hair, which everyone exclaims over as she has so much of it. Charlie had a downy little fuzz of blond, but Melissa emerged practically tossing a ponytail over her tiny shoulder and it's not stopped growing. I have to concede that as part of her Reed inheritance I suppose. 

I wasn't nervous at all when she emerged; just giddily excited that my sleep patterns (only just restored to pre-parenthood norms) were about to be shot to buggery all over again. There have been no rows over names this time, with Melissa being Charlie's choice (thanks to a character in a bedtime story he insists on hearing three times a week at least) and Elizabeth a Tucker family name we agreed long ago would be slipped into our first girl's title somewhere.

Hark to that, _our first girl_! Anyone would think I'm succumbing to the Tucker predilection for endless tribes of snotty-nosed, yelling offspring.

Honestly, every time I glance into Melissa's crib or Charlie tugs my trouser leg and begs Daddy to kick a football (despite his usually obvious American accent, he knows the game is properly known as football, not _soccer_ ) in the garden, I find myself thinking it wouldn't be so bad after all. I'm more besotted by the day, and Trip takes huge delight in telling people the most dangerous man in Starfleet (was that Travis's invention? I may have to hurt him for it) is a hopeless, gurgling softy over his children.

I can't accuse him of slander, mind you. It's absolutely true.

Charlie, as you can see, grows more like his Poppa all the time, despite the grey eyes and the hint of Reed about the bone structure. His accent is the oddest thing, now he's talking (incessantly, chalk up one more to the Tucker genome): sometimes a reasonably neutral general-American, occasionally pure Floridian, with the odd moment of clipped British sneaking in when one least expects it. Hoshi swears he's creating a whole new sub-division of the English language. Jonathan Archer maintains he needs the aid of the UT to understand more than one word in five his godson spouts.

Hoshi and Trip's sister Becky are to be Melissa's godmothers, with Jon being godfather as he is for Charlie (Maddie being his godmother and Trip's younger brother Chris the second godfather). Girls get one godfather you see, boys only one godmother. We _had_ hoped to ask Travis to be Melissa's godparent, but he's out in deep space again. He's sent a congratulations note to Charlie, complete with advice for keeping sisters in line.

I may have to hide it from him when he's able to read for himself. You know what Travis's friendly advice can be like.

Did your bat ever recover from his helpful suggestion about hanging it upside-down to enjoy Enterprise's sweet spot?

I'm sure the question of our daughter's surname has been vexing you since the birth announcement arrived, Phlox. I'll give you the official Cap'n Tucker explanation.

Charlie's a Reed Tucker too, even if he's always called plain Tucker. Danged if he didn't forget a little line between his names when we registered Charles's birth, but heck, they're both Reed-Tuckers or Tucker-Reeds really, _'cause folks hafta know who their parents are, right?_

And our next child will be a boy called Malcolm Charles Tucker Reed, who'll be known to his friends as Mally Reed (over my dead body). _Gotta keep two old family names going through another generation darlin'._

Personally I think he just likes confusing people.

I'm warming to the concept, though, even if Tucker-Reed flows better than Reed-Tucker, and would stop my demented spouse jovially explaining to all and sundry that my name comes first because I make the rules. Tactical/Security officers prefer to fade into the background (unlike voluble, heedless engineers who run their gobs off at the drop of the proverbial) so while it may be true that I get my way more often than not, I should prefer the rest of San Francisco wasn't aware of the fact. Trip is still the senior officer, after all.

Charlie has awful difficulty getting his little tongue around Melissa, even though he bullied us into choosing the name. He seems to have settled on _Lissa_ , which, increasingly, is what we find ourselves calling her. She's the most placid creature in the world, quite content to be handed around and bounced, simply gazing at people with big eyes under astonishingly long, thick eyelashes. Unlike her elder brother, she rarely wakes more than once or twice per night; Charles, if you remember, had us both exhausted, yelling for attention every hour on the hour until his first birthday. 

There's something almost thoughtful - even solemn - about Melissa, tiny as she is. I try not to read anything into it, but from his first moments Charlie was a boisterous enthusiast, cut from the same cloth as his Poppa, so perhaps Lissa will grow up quieter and more considered, like her Daddy.

Now I have to train her to speak British English!

I must finish, Phlox; toxic fumes are wafting my way from the crib and my son is making suitably disgusted sounds, as if he never fouled a nappy in his short life. Trip sends his love with mine to you all.

Ever your affectionate friend,

Malcolm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's getting his way - mostly. Phlox won't be surprised by that!

Dear Doctor Phlox,

I'm sending you pictures from Charlie's first full day at school to preserve you from the horror of Trip making contact about it. Charles was perfectly cheerful: he shook hands with Mrs McKinley very prettily, got out "How do you do?" with the dignity of a Vulcan ambassador and plonked himself down at a desk beside his new best friend Callum without sparing us another glance. 

Trip, meanwhile, was a jibbering, blubbering mess. Just as well I took a whole box of paper hankies!

I can proudly report that I endured the traumatic experience with upper lip suitably stiffened, and I'll deny 'til the cows come home any suggestion that my sniffles walking out of the school gate were caused by anything other than those damned floral arrangements along the drive. Where have the years gone, Phlox? My baby is a schoolboy!

Thank heaven his little sister is spared the horrors of full-time education for a couple more years!

Oh, and that there'll be another little boy occupying the nursery within a year. Trip's determined I shall have my next-generation Reed, and he can be awfully persuasive when he sets his mind to it.

I must be mad. Do you think, with your vast experience of matrimony, Phlox, that it's possible for love to melt one's brain? I've actually agreed to another nine months of anxiety (and rows about middle names) and another year on top of that of wailing that rouses the whole street in the middle of the night - not to mention smelly nappies, and vomit-stains on all my uniforms. And just think - three of them getting hormonal in a decade or so's time! I'm too old and too staid and much too fastidious to put myself through all of that!

Yet I'm more excited than Charlie on Christmas morning (and you've seen the home movie, you know he takes his Poppa's boisterous enthusiasm then triples it). My little Missa (Charles had troubles with _M_ at her age; she struggles with _L_ ) is a proper little girl now, chattering eagerly about _nursey-school_ and _gowing-up_ (by which she means growing up, something I'm reluctant to let her do; she's so unspeakably precious and innocent). I do miss having a baby totally depended on Trip and me.

Travis recommends a puppy. Philistine!

Jonathan (beg pardon, Admiral Archer) had the Terrible Twosome overnight, which Trip and I consider possibly the bravest act of his distinguished career. He assures me they behaved impeccably, remembered their p's and q's, settled down to sleep when instructed and ate the dinner he cooked before begging for anything with an impossibly high sugar content. Their digestive tracts, I assure you, are pure Tucker, but that's by the bye. When he returned them he actually said he'd begun to regret his childless state: something none of us ever expected to hear, and which Hoshi refused to believe until he repeated it in front of her and Jack over dinner the following week.

You asked in your last if he was still in touch with Commander Wallace. Much to Trip's dismay, no. Personally I never saw it working out; too great a disparity in rank (the age gap didn't particularly worry me, being aware that Jonathan Archer has never actually grown up), and anyway, you know my suspicion. His heart, or a part of it, is on Vulcan with _his_ First Officer.

Now don't shake your head and protest you never suspected a thing. You're far too experienced an amateur anthropologist to have missed the signs over ten years' study!

Are you still planning to come to Starfleet Medical's inter-species surgical principles conference next month? Staying with the admiral may be a good idea, but don't think you're getting out of at least one evening _chez_ Tucker/Reed. Between the two of us we're almost passable cooks, and if the temperature is a few degrees above freezing, my other half is almost certain to drag out the barbecue.

Consider yourself duly warned!

Your affectionate friend,

Malcolm.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family is complete.

Dear Phlox,

Charlie sends his best love to his Uncle-Doc (have you forgiven him for that unfortunate first meeting, by the way? After his attempt to pull off T'Pol's ears the previous year, Trip and I thought we'd put a stop to the yanking of strangers' facial features. The bruise faded quicker on you, though) and Lissa adds a chocolate-caked kiss. You'll see from the attached files how much of a fuss they're both making of James Jonathan Tucker Reed (a.k.a. Jamie Reed), now three weeks old and _quite_ adorable. Yet again, Trip declares him the image of his Daddy; he simply can't see past the dark hair, because if you glance at the profile shots you'll note a distinct snub end to the little nose.

Melissa, I will concede, is unmistakably a Reed; developing the cheekbones and accent at pace, and with a certain air of reserve about her that ought to make her Tucker genes scream in rebellion. Even my father calls her a real little lady and insisted on having a very messy afternoon tea of cream scones and lemonade in the kitchen with her when he and Mother visited last week.

Thank God I'm not a woman and prey to hormonal jiggery-pokery in the aftermath of childbirth, because I don't think I could have borne the descent of the grandparents (both sets) in Jamie's first weeks. They mean well (even my father, despite the odd _faux-pas_ , of which more later) but they're bloody overpowering when you're trying to cope with two over-excited toddlers and a newborn. Oh, and a spouse who is rowdier than either child

Can you believe I'm a father of three, Phlox? I can't! Even Trip admits it's a tad bewildering, tucking three little people into their beds at night and hearing (so far) two sweet, high little voices trilling _"love you Poppa/Daddy!"_. Ten years ago we were exploring deep space and now... being head of security on Jonathan Archer's starship was a doddle compared with managing domestic life on Earth, I promise.

I hadn't considered it until you commented, seeing them running around the garden together, but they really do bicker in the same way as Trip and I, don't they? Charlie's mouth running away with him, Lissa cutting in... at least we never got physical like they do. Can you imagine the number of broken bones you'd have had to set over the course of ten years if we'd been as ready with our fists as our tongues!

Trip mentioned what you'd said to Admiral Archer when he dropped them off for their sleepover (translation: abandoned them for a dirty weekend with his husband) on Friday night. He couldn't believe his oldest friend would simply roll his eyes, laugh and say "Trip, the rest of us have been saying that ever since Melissa first told her big brother to _stop talking nonsense!_ "

Apparently she even does it in my accent. I was positively overflowing with pride for the rest of the night.

It's amazing how identical genetic material can produce two such opposite end results, isn't it? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, as enough people made the same tiresome comment about opposites attracting when Trip and I first got together, but it never ceases to astonish me all the same. There's just enough Reed in Charlie for me to point and say "Yes, he really is my son" and enough Tucker in Lissa for Trip to claim her as his little princess too. 

It's rather too soon to make any prediction about who Jamie will resemble most closely. He's noisier than his sister but not as demanding as Charles, with the same air of frighteningly grown-up alertness they both displayed from their first few hours: as if he's making mental notes on everything he sees. Trip says that must be a Reed inheritance, and I'm afraid my mother backs him up. _Malcolm@s always been a sharp one, haven't you, dear?_

Still, better that than my father grunting into his shirt-sleeve about _Frankenstein's children_ when he thought Trip and I weren't listening. I quite feared for his life when Trip turned, beet red and clenching his fists, from doing the washing-up.

Thank God for Leanne Tucker. She put herself between my father and my spouse (braver move than Trip sticking Enterprise between bristling fleets of trigger-happy Vulcans and Andorians, if you ask me) and said _"Now, Stuart, you said yourself, y' ain't gonna be getting any grandkids the old-fashioned way from Madeleine. And Trip and Malcolm are just the most wonderful parents, aren't they? Mary! You come tell your husband t' mind his manners and appreciate what he's got in his family!"_

First time in my life I've almost felt sorry for the bullying old coot! He's got more blood in him than I ever realised, to go _that_ red in the face!

Mother was _mortified_. Spent the rest of the week telling me it was all the Captain's grim sense of humour, no insult to Trip and I at all. I had to take her aside and quietly explain I'm a big boy now. I realise he doesn't approve of my marrying a man (or a superior officer, or an American, come to that) but I live my own life, and I don't really give a baboon's bollocks for his opinion. 

Now he's realised that, he keeps his derogatory remarks to himself most of the time. It may be hypocritical, but we rub along better now than we ever have. Of course, we still don't see each other more than once a year, which helps.

I'm determined _my_ children will want their Daddy to visit them when they're adults, not dread every rare descent for weeks beforehand. Trip, who can be awfully astute when he sets his mind to it, points out that my children will actually know who their Daddy is. I don't suppose either Maddie or I ever had the chance to develop a relationship with Capt. Reed.

Giving up space exploration may have been a wrench, Phlox, but it was eminently worthwhile. You've done the same, so I assume you must agree.

We'll see you by vid link for the baptism. It's awfully good of you to be Jamie's godfather when the post has no meaning at all to a Denobulan. I rather wish T'Pol was being his godmother, as that would be all the Enterprise senior staff connected with our brats in one way or another. What in Heaven's name have we let ourselves in for, giving Travis a position of moral responsibility around our baby?

You, on the other hand, I trust absolutely. I am, as always, your very affectionate friend,

Malcolm


End file.
